


The Letter M

by StarshipDancer



Series: Tumblr Quirrellmort Prompts [4]
Category: A Very Potter Musical Series - Team StarKid
Genre: Flowers, Fluff, M/M, Overthinking, Quirrell is a little shit, Voldemort has no filter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 21:49:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15542871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarshipDancer/pseuds/StarshipDancer
Summary: Anonymous asked: 4 for quirrellmort? ❤️4. “Do you…well…I mean…I could give you a massage?”





	The Letter M

**Author's Note:**

> You can read this as a sequel to Relaxing, if you want? But it's not necessary.

Voldemort liked his life. 

During his younger years, if he’d been asked what his plans were, he probably would have answered something along the lines of _dominating the world_. Probably with snakes and dementors and all those other things he loved listing off. Mostly snakes. Definitely snakes.

There’d been the terrorizing in general that he wanted to do. The mayhem. The mischief. The murder. The mmm… massive snakes. All the big _M_ ’s, y’know.

What _hadn’t_ been on his list was domestic bliss.

_Marriage_ wasn’t one of those _M_ ’s that he’d been thinking about when he was making evil plans. He’d never even wanted a relationship because those were _messy_. And _complicated_ , and he was trying to stay away from those things.

Quirrell changed that, though, the same way that Quirrell changed _everything_. They weren’t even married, but that was definitely a bridge that Voldemort wanted to cross in the future.

Which was why Voldemort was in the garden, pulling weeds while Quirrell was at work.

Lately, Quirrell had been making more time for Voldemort, but that meant that he was neglecting his garden. Voldemort knew how much the garden meant to him, though, and didn’t want it to get out of control. If it became overgrown with weeds, then Quirrell would spend more time with _the garden_ instead of _Voldemort_ , and Voldemort wasn’t having that.

Hence the weeding. Voldemort hadn’t gone about this productively, though. All he’d managed to do was get dirt all over his hands, and _then_ he’d remembered that gloves were a thing. It was _weird_ doing things the primitive way, completely hands-on and without magic. He hated acting like a Muggle, but Quirrell wanted his garden to flourish without magic, so….

The things he did for love.

The things he did for the man he wanted to propose to.

Voldemort knelt in the flower bed, his pale hands covered with dirt (because why should he bother with gloves now?) as he pulled weed after weed. The big problem was _how_ he wanted to propose. He couldn’t just _say it_. No, Quirrell loved reading all of those fancy romance novels, so he was going to have to go all out.

But what would be good enough for Quirrell? Voldemort paused to wipe some sweat from his brow and glared at the rose bush directly in front of him. He’d almost stabbed his nose on the thorns a few times, so he wasn’t a fan. Sure, it wasn’t _their_ fault that the weeds were growing so close to the roots, but _still_. He wasn’t really a big fan of flowers.

But Quirrell loved them, and he loved Quirrell. That was enough.

Suddenly, that gave Voldemort an idea. He could stick a ring in a _flower_ , and when it opened up—

But how the hell was Voldemort supposed to do that? _Without_ magic? Because Quirrell would appreciate it more if he didn’t use magic. But Voldemort didn’t know how to do even the most mundane things _the Muggle way_ , so how was he supposed to make a flower bloom with a ring in the middle?

And what if Quirrell wasn’t paying attention at the right moment? Or didn’t realize what Voldemort wanted? Or said no?

_What if Quirrell said_ _no_? The idea was just too overwhelming to even consider.

“What are you doing out here?”

Voldemort jumped, tiny shovel in hand and ready to strike. Then he looked up and saw Quirrell smiling down at him, and he felt his heart swell like usual. Quirrell looked _wonderful_ , his hair minutely disheveled as if he’d just run his hand through it, his eyes warm and full of love for Voldemort.

God, Voldemort loved him.

Voldemort wanted to _marry him_.

But what if Quirrell said no? The how didn’t matter if the end result was rejection.

“Just pulling weeds,” Voldemort explained, shrugging.

“I can see that,” said Quirrell cautiously, his eyes narrowed in mild suspicion. “Why? Did you break one of my indoor plants again? I told you, cacti are _hardy_. You can stop trying to make it up to me now.”

“Very funny.” Voldemort stood up and began to wipe his hands on his knees; he had to do laundry, anyway. Not a big deal. “You’ve been pretty busy lately, so I just figured I should keep up with your garden.”

Quirrell raised an eyebrow in disbelief, and Voldemort felt a little affronted. Sure, he didn’t frequent the garden, but that didn’t mean he didn’t go out there every now and then. Quirrell, guessing his thoughts, leaned up to place a kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you, Voldemort. That’s very thoughtful of you.” Quirrell trailed a line of kisses down Voldemort’s chin, arriving finally at his lips. Voldemort hummed, satisfied, and melted into the kiss. He wanted to do this _forever_ , and even then, that might not be long enough.

“How was work?” Voldemort asked between kisses.

“Hmmm… not bad. Happy to be home.”

“Are you sore?” Voldemort dipped down nipping at Quirrell’s lip, eliciting a pleased hum from him. He kept his hands to himself though, his hands far too dirty for touching. Voldemort had to fix that. He thought of all the ways he could get Quirrell inside the privacy of their home and latched on to the first thing that popped into his head. “ **Do you…well…I mean…I could give you a massage**?”

Quirrell laughed and beamed up at him, still a little suspicious. At least he had a right to be this time. Voldemort’s motives were anything but innocent when Quirrell was involved. “Remember what happened _last time_ you gave me a massage?”

“Hey, I didn’t hear you complaining then!”

“No,” Quirrell relented, smiling, “and you won’t hear me complain now. Come on; let’s get you cleaned up. I could go for a cuddle.” He took Voldemort’s hand, caring little of the dirt, and began to pull him inside. He did seem a little tense; maybe a massage wasn’t a bad idea, after all.

Quirrell led Voldemort to the bathroom. Voldemort watched him turn on the water and then pull Voldemort’s dirty hands under the stream. The care with which Quirrell used to lather his fingers with soap was nearly stifling; Voldemort was helpless to do anything but stand there as Quirrell slid their fingers together, rubbing all of the nooks and crannies in Voldemort’s skin until the water ran clean down the sink.

_Wizard God_ , Voldemort loved him. He loved him more than anything. More than world domination. More than _snakes_. More than mayhem or murder or any of those other _M_ things.

More than… _more than_ ….

“Hey, come back to me,” Quirrell requested, raising a hand to touch Voldemort’s cheek; his fingers were dry now, but Voldemort could still feel the chill from the water. He lifted his own hand to wrap around Quirrell’s, squeezing to warm the skin again. Quirrell smiling doting. “What were you thinking about?”

Voldemort wasn’t going to tell him. He wasn’t going to just blurt out _marriage_ like a fucking idiot.

“Marrying you.”

Or maybe he was.

Quirrell blinked at him, slightly dazed, and the silence was _suffocating_. Voldemort almost couldn’t take it, and he tried to back away, put some space between them in case he overstepped a boundary. In case Quirrell wanted him to leave after the inevitable rejection.

But then Quirrell was pulling him down, kissing him so sweetly that Voldemort’s toes curled. Voldemort melted, arms wrapped around him, pulling him close until his back hit something solid; Quirrell had him backed against the wall, as if trying to keep him from escaping. There was no place Voldemort would rather be.

“For all of those plans for world domination you made, you sure can be an idiot sometimes,” Quirrell whispered, breathless, kissing him with increasing passion. Voldemort felt the warm, wet slide of Quirrell’s tongue against his lips, and he opened up without a second thought.

Some time later, when they had kissed long enough for Voldemort’s back to have a permanent impression of their tiled wall, Quirrell leaned back to give him a severe look.

“You’re going to have to do it again.”

“Do what again?” Voldemort asked, ready to do anything just to keep Quirrell kissing him like that.

“Your proposal. I’ll need you to do it again.”

“Now, hold on—”

“That wasn’t _nearly_ romantic enough.”

“ _Quirrell_ —”

“And where’s the ring? How am I supposed to tell my students about how my wonderful boyfriend _finally_ proposed to me when you haven’t given me a ring yet?”

“Tell your—wait, do you talk about me at work?”

Quirrell blushed, his lips pressed into a tight line. “Please stay on topic.”

“And what do you mean, _finally_?” Voldemort felt himself grinning now, wondering how he could have ever doubted the man who’d only ever had eyes for him. He kissed Quirrell on the nose, laughing when Quirrell scrunched up his face. “You know, if you were getting that impatient, you could have just asked me yourself.”

Quirrell tilted his head to the side, considering that, and then smiled. “No. I knew you would come around eventually. You’re worth the wait. You always have been.”

And Voldemort, unable to articulate any more, simply tugged Quirrell back in for another kiss, already planning his next proposal and wondering where in the hell a fugitive wizard was supposed to buy an engagement ring.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at neonganymede.tumblr.com !


End file.
